


it burns so bright, i wanna feel your love

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry liked getting what he wanted; maybe it was the result of being the baby, the youngest one in his family—and the band—but he wasn’t used to people telling him no. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>And maybe—maybe Zayn did it to rile him up, some misguided notion to put Harry in his place, remind him that he doesn’t always get what he wants. Whatever the reason, Harry refused to admit that he kind of liked it, because that’s something that Zayn would never let him live down.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	it burns so bright, i wanna feel your love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hopelesslyendeared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelesslyendeared/gifts).



> many thanks to a & a for the hand holding, reassurances, and beta-skills. i hope you like it (:

It started like this—

Harry was used to getting what he wanted, and that wasn’t in any sort of narcissistic or self-absorbed way, it was just how things in his life tended to go. His mum swore it was his pretty green eyes, and Zayn swore it was the dimple and his crooked little half-smile, and Harry didn’t _care,_ not really. He didn’t mean to, like, use it to his advantage, and he definitely didn’t see it as any sort of manipulation, even if Zayn and the lads teased him about that more often than not. It was just—

Harry liked getting what he wanted; maybe it was the result of being the baby, the youngest one in his family—and the band—but he wasn’t used to people telling him no. 

And maybe—maybe Zayn did it to rile him up, some misguided notion to put Harry in his place, remind him that he doesn’t always get what he wants. Whatever the reason, Harry refused to admit that he kind of liked it, because that’s something that Zayn would never let him live down.

And Zayn was good at that, messin’ about with Harry, pushing him to his limits, making him feel a little uncomfortable. Harry didn’t know exactly when that started, couldn’t pinpoint a particular time, but it was something that Zayn slowly evolved into after getting more comfortable with the lads, the band, their lifestyle in general. Harry had always been the one, in the beginning, to push Zayn past his boundaries, and then the tables had turned; Harry hadn’t been expecting that, but it was something he had gotten used to and even started to look forward to it. 

(Not that, y’know, he would be admitting that to Zayn. At least, not with his words, because then Zayn would get that _smile_ on his face and, fuck, Harry kind of lost his mind a little bit when Zayn would look at him _like that._ )

And the lads didn’t notice, didn’t really _care_ what Zayn and Harry got up to, sometimes lost in their own world—they tried to stay out of it because Zayn and Harry were similar in their quiet and broody and eccentric ways, and the lads tried not to get involved. Because even though Harry and Zayn were so similar, they also argued like nobody’s business, and no one wanted to get involved when Zayn was snappy and Harry was pouty. 

It didn’t exactly help that Harry did it on purpose sometimes, riling Zayn up just to fuck with him, because he liked the way Zayn would get a little rough with him, pushing him away when Harry leaned in to kiss his cheek, slapping at his hands when Harry went to embrace him, or slamming him up against the wall when they were alone, when Harry tried to get a little handsy. 

Because Zayn was—Zayn was in _charge_ when it came to that, when it came to their relationship, which had always been a little more than just friends and a little less than boyfriends—no matter what anyone else said. Liam insisted they were dating, even without going on dates; Louis maintained that they just fucked like animals due to close quarters; Niall didn’t care _what_ they were doing, he just liked to call them boyfriends because Harry’s cheeks would get pink and Zayn’s eyes would narrow, denial at the tip of his tongue, but neither of them even bothered after a while. 

And Harry was—Harry was good at getting handsy with Zayn, rather liked the way he could never predict how Zayn was going to react, whether he was going to let Harry have his way (for once) or if he was going to put Harry in his place (in a manner of speaking). And he liked to make trouble, Harry did, especially when Zayn was involved—he guessed he never really learned his lesson. 

Which is how he found himself waking up before Zayn, for once, in their shared hotel room in Australia (because even though the label paid for separate rooms, they all ended up on top of one another—Zayn and Harry just in a more…intimate and literal manner), the summer sunlight streaming through the curtains that Harry didn’t close the night before after Zayn was done fucking him against the window, Harry’s fingertips scratching against the flat surface as the head of Zayn’s cock dragged across his prostate, a stubble-lined cheek against the side of his neck, whispering promises against his ear.

Harry rolled over, pouting when the mess of blankets that Zayn insisted upon got tangled up around his legs, and he tried to kick them away before giving up entirely. He lifted the blanket up over his head and scooted across the king size bed, curling up against Zayn’s side. And to say Zayn was a heavy sleeper was putting it lightly, honestly—Harry had a theory that a bomb could explode in the next room and Zayn would just roll over and pull a pillow over his head to try to drown out the sound—whatever. He stuck his cold toes against Zayn’s warm ankle, watching the older boy snuffle in his sleep and try to turn over onto his side, but Harry reached out for his shoulder, keeping him on his back.

“Zayn,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the side of Zayn’s neck, knowing full well that it wasn’t going to wake him up at all, but Harry just _wanted_ to. 

“Shut it, Haz,” Zayn grumbled with a frown, the warm honey skin between his eyes furrowing up and he reached for a pillow, but Harry stopped him.

“S’time to get up,” Harry whispered with a bright smile, nosing at Zayn’s jaw, against his stubble.

“S’time for you to shut up,” he snapped.

Harry giggled, climbing half of top of Zayn, straddling his thin hips. “C’mon,” he whined, lying down until their chests were pressed together. “You should get up,” he told him with a slight rock of his hips.

Zayn stilled, reaching up to rub at his eyes, and he opened one just enough to stare Harry down. “What time is it?”

“Nearly ten—“

“And you’re waking me up for a shag?”

Harry paused for a beat before nodding and pressing his lips to the underside of Zayn’s jaw, could feel the fond progressing towards annoyance, and no, no, he didn’t want an annoyed Zayn, he just wanted Zayn to wake up and fuck him—that was all. “C’mon,” he whined, drawing out the vowel and rocking his hips against Zayn’s, his cock half-hard between their bodies. “M’still open from last night, yeah? Could do all the work for you,” he told him, his voice dropping an octave or two in the way it did when he wanted Zayn to do as he asked, when he was trying to get what he wanted. 

“Yeah?” Zayn mused, hands reaching for Harry’s waist, sliding down to his thick thighs, looking positively perfect and obscene against the stark white of the sheets. And he dug his fingers in a little, a little captivated with the way his skin looked against Harry’s thighs, the olive skin and black ink against the pale skin, and he instinctively licked his lips just to watch Harry squirm. “Think if you’re wakin’ me up for a shag, it’d better be brilliant, yeah?”

Harry’s eyes lit up and his teeth dug into his bottom lip, making it slick and wet and pink, and it was almost enough to change Zayn’s mind (almost). “Yeah?” he asked, more than a little eager and willing.

Zayn smiled and shook his head. “No,” he told him, slapping at Harry’s thighs and rolling over until the younger boy slid off of him with a pout, and he turned back over, pulling the blanket over his head. “Later, H, wanna sleep.”

“You’d rather sleep than fuck me?” Harry asked incredulously.

Zayn didn’t even bother responding, not only because he was fucking exhausted, but also because he loved how worked up Harry got when he was ignored or denied, it was—it was something else. 

Harry pouted and kicked at Zayn’s leg, cold toes curling against his ankle. “Fine. I’ll just go wank in the shower,” he told him, “and you can’t join me.”

Zayn listened to him shuffle around the blankets before climbing out of bed, heard the telltale signs of Harry stretching in the form of bones cracking, and he winced. He heard Harry’s bare feet pad across the floor, the light switch flick on, and he sat up slowly, licking at his lips. “What if you didn’t?”

Harry frowned, turning around to face Zayn with his arms crossed across his chest; he might’ve been frowning, but Zayn could distinctly see the challenge behind his green eyes. “Sorry?”

“What if you don’t?” he repeated with a little grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Didn’t shower?”

“Didn’t _wank,_ ” Zayn corrected, smile widening when Harry looked at him like he was crazy. “Could be fun, yeah?”

“For you,” Harry snorted. 

Zayn shrugged because, yeah, that wasn’t exactly a lie, and he lay back down against the sheets, propping an arm behind his head and watching as Harry lingered in the doorway of the loo. He half-expected Harry to roll his eyes and tell him he was absurd, that he was going to wank and Zayn couldn’t stop him, but Harry was always up for a challenge, always up for anything Zayn suggested, and he wasn’t using it to his advantage—he _wasn’t._ “Could make it up to you,” Zayn offered, resting a hand on his lower stomach as he felt his cock start to stir against his thigh, and he almost hated how easy it was for Harry to turn him on— _almost._

“Hmm,” Harry mused, leaning against the doorframe. “What would—“ he cleared his throat, the light flush across his cheeks was the telltale sign that he wasn’t feeling as cool and collected as he had hoped he looked, “what would the stipulations be?”

Zayn grinned, tongue darting out to lick at his lips again. “Don’t touch yourself or, like, don’t let yourself come,” he shrugged

Harry swallowed. “So like—just—“

“Not until I say you can, anyway,” he added easily. “And I can make it up to you later.”

“Later today?”

“Maybe.”

Harry pursed his lips. “I—I mean—“

“If you think you can do it,” Zayn interrupted with a wolfish grin, laughing when Harry narrowed his eyes and scoffed.

“I can do it,” he insisted. “You know I can.”

“Do I? Last I checked, you were the most sex-crazed person I know.”

“Just with you,” Harry whispered shyly, and Zayn _knew_ that, knew from their late night and early morning shags, whispered words against his ear as Harry rode him, little whimpers and moans and promises of nothing ever feeling quite like _that._

Zayn smiled, scratching at his lower stomach, and his mind vaguely noted that Harry’s prick was still half-hard against his thigh, clearly interested in what Zayn was proposing even if Harry was acting like he didn’t care. “What do you say?”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged. “Maybe,” he told him before turning around, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him loudly.

Zayn laughed softly as he heard the shower start, because Harry might’ve said _maybe,_ but Zayn knew exactly what that meant. 

 

+

 

Zayn briefly thought that he should’ve put some sort of stipulation into place with Harry’s current…predicament, really, because Harry could only follow directions if they were laid out explicitly, probably in writing, numbered or bullet pointed or something. Because when Zayn told Harry not to wank in the shower, to not get himself off, he meant it, but he probably should’ve specified that Harry wasn’t to get himself off _at all._

Which led to Harry cornering Zayn before their show, grabbing his wrist when he was trying to have a conversation with Niall and dragging him away, out of the dressing room and through a series of corridors and hallways that Zayn knew he would get lost in, pulling him further away from the lads and deeper into the stadium. 

“Hazza—“

“Shut up,” Harry whined, turning to narrow his pretty green eyes at Zayn before backing up against the wall. His hands reached for Zayn’s hips, digging in and pulling him forward until their bodies were aligned, leaning in and pressing his lips to Zayn’s. 

And Zayn, well, fuck, he couldn’t say no to kissing Harry—it was probably impossible in every sense of the word, couldn’t find the strength to pull away when Harry had hands all over him So Zayn let Harry kiss him—after all, kissing was good, great even, especially with Harry, and that had nothing to do with Harry not touching himself so—it was good. Zayn gripped Harry’s hips, squeezing them softly, feeling Harry moan against his lips, and he slid his hands up his chest, pausing briefly to pinch at his nipples through his sheer shirt, before cupping his cheeks and pulling away.

Harry whined at the loss of contact, tongue darting out over his lips, his eyes hooded and dark as he blinked and met Zayn’s eyes. “Zayn—“ 

“Yeah?”

“C’mon, been hard all day,” Harry told him shamelessly, because Harry didn’t believe in shame, would get down on his knees for Zayn in front of the whole band if Zayn didn’t have the good sense to stop him on more than one occasion. 

Zayn smiled at that, when Harry leaned in and pressed his lips to Zayn’s throat, fingers reaching for his belt. Zayn gently reached for Harry’s wrists, pulling his hands away, and Harry pouted, sinking back against the wall. 

“Zayn—“

“After the show,” Zayn told him, not surprised when Harry pushed his hips forward, cock hard against the zip of his jeans. Biting his lip, Zayn reached for Harry’s hips and pressed them back against the wall. “ _Behave,_ Harry.”

Harry licked his lips, feeling Zayn’s fingers tighten around his hips. “You gonna spank me if I don’t or summat?”

“No,” he mused slowly, his left hand reaching up to stroke over Harry’s curls, the ones framing his face, running his thumb along the cut of his jaw. “You’d enjoy that too much, wouldn’t you?”

Harry lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. 

“After the show,” Zayn repeated, hand slipping away from Harry’s thigh to brush across the front of his jeans, squeezing lightly, enough to make Harry’s eyes squeeze shut and a shallow breath leave his lips. 

“Promise?” Harry breathed out, forcing his eyes open, only a little glassy, and he met Zayn’s eyes. 

Zayn grinned, the tip of his tongue touching at his teeth, and he nodded. “Promise.”

 

+

 

(And if Zayn caught Harry between the set, when Harry bolted off for a quick wee, if Zayn caught him right before going back onstage, backing him up against a wall and kissing him senseless, palming his cock through the fabric of his jeans, then, well. And it’s not like he did it on—okay, well, he did it on purpose, did it just to see the way Harry’s eyes went a little hazy, how his fingers itched to touch Zayn, how his body ached for any sort of contact. He did it because of the way Harry reached for him, the way Zayn’s name fell from his lips in a whisper, a plea, as Zayn bit at his throat, squeezing his cock through his jeans before pulling back with a smirk that had Harry whining. He did it for the way Harry pouted when Zayn whispered a quick _later, babes_ in his ear before backing away and darting back onstage, leaving Harry to collect himself before he was ushered back onstage by one of their roadies. And he did it for the way Harry stumbled back onstage, eyes wide and bright, acting as though nothing happened. But Zayn saw the looks Harry sent him between songs, something teasing and playful, because Harry could never get _mad_ at him, not really, and that— _that_ was why he did it, really.)

 

+

 

It felt like the second Louis dipped out of the room to find Liam and Niall, Zayn had a lap full of Harry. And he wasn’t going to complain, not when Harry was grinding down against him, panting so pretty, and reaching for the zip of Zayn’s jeans. Zayn laughed as he pulled away from Harry, reaching down to grab his wrists and still them.

“What are you tryin’ to do?” he asked, watching as Harry shuffled about on his lap, trying to get any sort of friction, and he tightened his hold on Harry’s wrists, not missing the way his breathing hitched. 

“Just—“ Harry started, wiggling a little bit more, and he licked his lips. “Zayn, I—I haven’t gotten off all day—“

“I know,” Zayn interrupted, releasing Harry’s wrists and cupping the side of his face. “But—“

Harry whined, throwing his head back in frustration.

Zayn bit his lip, running his fingertips over the front of Harry’s neck, thumb rubbing over his pulse point, and he felt it jump under his touch. “The lads will be back any minute—“

“I don’t _care_ —“

Zayn reached for Harry’s jaw, tipping his face down until their eyes met, and he frowned. “I do,” he told him.

“Zayn—“

“Harry,” Zayn snapped, his tone changing, and Harry’s eyes widened, darkened a little bit, and he licked his lips. “No. We will later.”

“Zayn, I—I want—“

“Later,” he repeated, pulling Harry down for a kiss, tongues sliding together; when he pulled away, Harry was breathing heavily against him, eyes a little glassy, and Zayn swallowed. “Be a good boy, yeah? And I’ll make you come so hard later, you see bloody stars, yeah?”

Harry nodded quickly, and his hips stuttered just a little bit. “Yeah,” he breathed out with another nod, reaching his hands up to Zayn’s chin, ducking behind his ears, rubbing his fingertips over the shaved sides of Zayn’s head. “Yeah, like—“ he licked his lips, “like, what else?”

Zayn huffed out a laugh, sinking back further against the couch, letting his hands fall to Harry’s waist. “You want me to talk dirty when the lads will be back any minute?” he asked, massaging Harry’s sides with his fingertips. 

“I—I mean,” Harry shrugged, “you’re already making me wait, yeah? And—“

“Do you not want to?” Zayn prodded seriously, eyebrows furrowed, because the last thing he would ever want would be to force Harry into something he _didn’t_ want; that—that wasn’t Zayn, that wasn’t what he _did,_ and it wasn’t what _they_ did, so—

“No, I do,” Harry interrupted quickly, his voice so soft that Zayn barely heard him. “I—I like that,” he admitted.

Zayn nodded, lips pursed. “Alright.”

“But, I—I would like it if you—if you did, yeah?” he told him, a little shyly, which was not something that Zayn was used to from Harry. Because Harry had a tendency of being almost a little too revealing, wore his heart on his sleeve, and was the most obvious person that Zayn had ever met; so for him to sound shy, a little insecure, was…new. 

“Alright,” Zayn repeated, glancing over to the hotel door, waiting for the lads to walk in Louis’ room, where they had all agreed to meet for a film, but it was just the two of them right then. “What do you want me to say?”

“ _Zayn,_ ” Harry whined, cheeks flushed and a pout on his lips. “C’mon.”

Zayn laughed and ran his hands over Harry’s thighs, squeezing them, sliding one hand over towards his cock, feeling it pulse beneath his palm, through the layers of fabric. “Can’t wait to get you all spread out beneath me, yeah? Your pretty, long hair all across the sheets, and your thighs spread out and waiting for me.”

Harry shivered, hands slipping to Zayn’s shoulders, where he dug his fingers in as Zayn palmed at his cock through his jeans. And fuck, it would’ve been so easy to come, he was so on edge, so close, had been all day, but—but he _couldn’t,_ because Zayn didn’t want him to, had asked him not to, and he had to—he had to _listen._

“Can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” Zayn told him, popping open the button on Harry’s jeans, and slipping his hand in between the denim of the jeans and the soft fabric of his pants. He could feel how wet Harry was, leaking through the fabric, and he licked his lips. 

“Yeah, fuck—“

“Think you could hold off? Once I got my mouth on you? I know how much you love when I get my tongue inside you,” he whispered, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the wet, sensitive head of Harry’s cock. “Love it when you come just because of my tongue. Maybe I’ll let you next time.”

“Please, Zayn—“

“Christ, lads, really?!” Louis shouted, walking into the room, the door hitting the wall with how hard he had shoved it open. “I was gone for five minutes, fuck, and Harry’s already got his prick out.”

Zayn smiled at the desperate look on Harry’s face when he pulled away, fixing up his jeans, and he turned to face their band mates. “Sorry about that,” he told them with a grin.

“You’re not sorry at all,” Liam accused. “I swear, you like to make us uncomfortable.”

“Think Harry’s the uncomfortable one right now,” Niall muttered, and he wasn’t wrong.

Harry pouted as Zayn pushed him to the side, standing up. “Hey—“

Zayn ignored him and ran a hand through his messy hair. “So what are we watching?”

“You sure you two don’t want to be left alone?” Louis snapped. “Christ, on the couch in my room. I hate you both.”

“No, we’re fine,” Zayn assured him. 

“You sure, mate? Harry looks like he’s about to—“ Liam started, but Zayn cut him off.

“He’s fine. Film?”

Niall pursed his lips and everyone went silent, all looking at each other awkwardly. “Are we— Are we going to ignore Harry’s hard on all night?” he asked.

“Yes,” Zayn declared. 

Harry whined, a frustrated sound, and he reached for a pillow on the couch, burying his face in it. “I hate all of you.”

Zayn smiled. “Not me, babes, I know you better than that. And yes, we are,” he repeated. 

“Are you punishing him?” Niall asked suddenly. “Because that’s just cruel, Zayn, even for you.”

“He likes it. Now enough about Harry’s prick, yeah? I thought you didn’t want to know about our sex life?” he asked.

Liam’s eyes widened and he held up his hands, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. None of us want to know. Shut up, Niall.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You have been,” Louis pointed out. “Now since we aren’t allowed to talk about Harry’s prick—“

“I’m _right here,_ Lou,” Harry snapped, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Can we just start the film? Zayn?” he asked, finally pulling away from the pillow, and his cheeks were still flushed, from embarrassment or arousal, Zayn wasn’t sure—probably both. “Sit with me?”

Zayn pursed his lips and thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah, think m’gonna sit over here.”

Harry frowned. “I thought we could cuddle?”

“No one’s gonna cuddle you now, Curly,” Louis muttered dryly, nodding towards Harry’s problem. “Sorry.”

“I hate you all,” Harry repeated, pulling the pillow onto his lap as Niall sat down next to him. 

Zayn grinned as he sat down in the overstuffed arm chair across the room, meeting Harry’s eyes, and he licked his lips, mouthing _later._ Harry nodded slowly before quickly averting his eyes, and he tried to pay attention to whatever film Liam put on, but it wasn’t exactly easy to concentrate. 

 

+

 

Harry felt like he was about to burst by the time Zayn ushered him into their room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Harry was wringing his hands together in front of his body, biting his lip, anxiously waiting for something, _anything._

Zayn turned to face him, running a hand over his hair, and he pursed his lips. “Go shower.”

Harry frowned. “Wha—“

“Go shower,” Zayn repeated. “Clean up, real good. Don’t touch yourself. When you’re done, come out here and kneel on the bed, in the center, yeah?”

“I—Yeah,” Harry said with a nod, because he wasn’t in the habit of questioning Zayn when he was so wound up; one wrong reply and Zayn could easily go to bed, go back to his own room, ignore Harry—literally _anything_ and that—that made Harry want to be _good._

Zayn watched as Harry slowly walked towards the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Once he heard the shower start, he made his way to the nightstand where he pulled out a spliff, going over to the window and propping it open. His hand shook a little bit as he dug his lighter out of his pocket, sitting on the windowsill so he could blow the smoke out of the window. They weren’t that high up, but Harry’s room was in the back and it was nearly one am, so he didn’t feel too nervous. He didn’t care if anyone was below, watching and waiting, he just needed—he just needed to calm his nerves, just a little bit. He vaguely heard the shower shut off some time later, heard the telltale shuffle of Harry’s feet across the carpeted floor. 

“M’done,” Harry whispered.

Zayn blew the smoke out of his lungs slowly, stubbing out the spliff on the windowsill, before turning to face Harry. “Fuck,” he whispered, running a hand over his face. He took his time standing up, found himself walking over to the bed and kneeling on it in front of Harry before he even realized it. His hands were reaching out, knuckles brushing over the soft skin of Harry’s hips and thighs, and he licked his lips. “Fuck, you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” he told him softly, a little distracted as his eyes landed on Harry’s cock, flushed red and angry, the head wet and nearly touching the skin around Harry’s navel. “Didn’t touch yourself?”

Harry shook his head, trying to steady his breathing. “No.”

“Good,” Zayn mused, running his fingertips along Harry’s stomach, over the laurels, trailing around the base of his cock, but never touching. “God, I wanna get my mouth on you so bad, babes—“

“Yeah,” Harry said with an eager nod, “please.”

Zayn bit his lower lip and leaned in, kissing Harry softly, without rush, cupping his cheeks gently. Zayn pulled away and Harry leaned forward, trying to chase Zayn’s lips with his own, a soft, little sigh escaping him when Zayn shook his head, running his fingertips across Harry’s lips. “Don’t move, yeah? I’ll be right back. Close your eyes.”

Harry nodded, closing his eyes instantly, wobbling a little when he felt Zayn get off of the bed. He opened his mouth to say something, probably Zayn’s name, but he stopped. He could wait; he could be good. 

Zayn just stared at him for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, before he ducked into the bathroom and into the shower. He didn’t take his time, didn’t feel like he had to drag it out any longer; Harry wasn’t the only one who had been waiting all day. He just— He just needed to clear his head, just a little bit, and try to remember that he had a gorgeous boy waiting for him in bed, a gorgeous boy who would literally do whatever he asked, even something as insane as going the whole day without wanking. Which, okay, not exactly insane, but for Harry? It kind of was, just a little bit, and Zayn didn’t _have_ to make it worse by constantly teasing him, working him up, just to leave him hanging, but—Harry _liked_ it and Zayn, too, by proxy. 

Zayn slowly climbed out of the shower, running a towel through his hair, and he turned to look out at Harry, who was still kneeling on the bed, eyes shut, head bowed. From where he was standing, Zayn could just make out the way Harry’s thighs were shaking a little bit, the curve of his cock and, fuck, he was _beautiful._ Zayn didn’t even bother drying off completely, didn’t want to waste any more time, and he joined Harry in the room, climbing onto the bed in front of him.

Harry’s cheeks pinked a little bit, and he tilted his head up, instinctively licking his lips. “Zayn?”

“M’here, babe,” Zayn whispered, cupping Harry’s cheeks with his hands, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. “God, ya look positively obscene out here, yeah? All pretty and waiting for me, not touching yourself,” he mused.

Harry whimpered a little bit, biting at his lower lip. “Can I open my eyes? Wanna see you, please—“

“Yeah,” he told him with a nod, smiling slowly when Harry’s eyes drifted open, green and wide and pleading. Zayn leaned in and kissed him, then, wasn’t able to stop himself, and wouldn’t want to anyway. And Harry melted into him, body swaying forward, his hands hesitantly reaching out for Zayn’s hips, pale fingers splaying over the olive skin. Zayn tilted Harry’s head to the side, kissing him slowly, thoroughly, tongues sliding against one another in a slick, wet mess, and he wanted _more._ “Lay down,” he whispered against Harry’s lips as he pulled back.

“Okay,” Harry agreed easily, flopping back against the bed, legs splayed wide as he stared up at Zayn eagerly, waiting. 

Zayn ran his hands over Harry’s calves, across his knees, taking his time as he mapped out Harry’s thighs with his fingertips and lips. Harry made a desperate sort of sound, trying to shy away from Zayn a little bit, but Zayn didn’t let him. He traced the soft skin of Harry’s thigh with his tongue, nipping at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, nosing at the base of his cock. “Love your thighs like this, babe, love how you’ve let yourself go a bit, thighs all thick for me. Can’t wait to see how they look when you ride me,” he told him, turning to pay the same attention to Harry’s other thigh, relishing in the little moans that slipped past his lips.

“Gotta get back ‘to the gym,” Harry whispered, back arching as Zayn dug his teeth in.

“Don’t you dare,” Zayn practically growled, looking up at him, Harry’s chest rising and falling heavily as Harry struggled to breathe properly. “Love you like this,” he repeated, trailing his lips across Harry’s love handles, biting at the soft skin, and across his stomach, up the center of his chest. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, smoothing his hands over the outside of Harry’s thighs.

“Can I touch you?”

Zayn laughed softly, nodding, and he wasn’t expecting it when Harry reached for his head, curling his fingers against the thick strands of hair, and pulled him in for a filthy kiss; he half-expected Harry to start rutting up against him, like he normally did when he was desperate to get off and Zayn had kept him waiting for too long, but he didn’t. And, for that, Zayn reached down and wrapped his fingers around the base of Harry’s cock, dragging it up the length slowly, ripping a delicious moan from Harry’s lips. “So hard for me,” Zayn whispered, impressed and aroused as he dragged his fingertip across the shiny, wet head of Harry’s cock, and Harry gasped against his lips. “Lube in the nightstand?”

Harry nodded quickly, a little dazed, and he watched as Zayn leaned across his body to fumble through the drawer, fingers closing around the half-empty bottle of lube that, fuck, he could’ve sworn had been new a couple of days before. 

Zayn tossed the bottle next to Harry’s side, lying back across his chest and pressing their lips together quickly. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out with a nod, thighs falling slack once more as Zayn’s fingers rubbed gently at his hip. His heart was racing, his breathing erratic, and he had never felt so turned on; he was almost dizzy with it, felt like he was properly losing his mind. His thighs were trembling, and he could feel his toes curling when Zayn leaned in, lips and teeth closing around one of his nipples, fingertips at his other, Harry’s back arched off of the mattress as Zayn mouthed at his chest, biting, licking, and sucking until Harry was crying out, fingers curling in Zayn’s hair. “Zayn—Please, I—“ he whimpered, tightening his hold on Zayn’s hair when it felt like too much; “I’m gonna—I can’t—Zayn—“ 

“Shh,” Zayn whispered as he pulled away, licking his lips, and he leaned up to catch Harry’s jaw in his hand, thumb rubbing across his lips. “You can do it, babe,” he told him, hissing when Harry lifted his hips off the mattress, their cocks sliding together, and he let Harry rut against him for a moment.

“Zayn, please, I—I wanna come—“

“Not yet,” he murmured, smiling against his lips as he kissed him softly. 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, nodding quickly, and he sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could feel Zayn’s hands at his hips, pressing him back against the bed. And then Zayn’s hands were gone, warm heat from his body had disappeared, and Harry forced his eyes open to see Zayn kneeling between his legs with a dazed look on his face as he just stared at Harry. “What’s it?” he slurred out, his voice thick in the quiet room. 

Zayn shook his head after a moment, sliding his hand over Harry’s stomach, across his ribs, and he smiled. 

“What?” Harry asked again, reaching his fingers out to brush across the top of Zayn’s thighs. 

Zayn’s smile widened and he leaned down to press his lips against Harry’s stomach, making his way up his sternum until he was pressing his lips against the soft skin of Harry’s jaw. “You’re gorgeous, H,” he whispered.

“You—“

“Feet flat on the bed,” he instructed, interrupting Harry before he could finish, “and hands above your head. Don’t come until I say you can.”

Harry whined but did as he was told, slowly, lethargically moving his feet until they were flat against the bed, thighs quivering. “You’re cruel,” he joked as Zayn pressed lips to his lower stomach, the stubble on his cheeks brushing across the side of Harry’s cock, and Harry moaned. His eyes met Zayn’s, and he bit his lip when Zayn ran his tongue along the side of Harry’s cock, slow and teasing, lips barely wrapping around the head, and Harry cried out. “Zayn—“

“Think I could be a bit more cruel,” he told him, wrapping deft fingers around the base of Harry’s cock, mouthing along the inside of his thigh. “Think I could tell you that you weren’t allowed to come at all, yeah?” he mused, glancing up at Harry when he felt fingers twist in his hair. “H—“

“But—“

“Pay attention,” Zayn interrupted with a grin and a sharp pinch to Harry’s thigh. “Hands above your head.”

Harry whimpered and threw his hands above his head, fingers wrapping around the thick slats of wrought iron that made up the headboard. He tried to send Zayn a smile, but it was shaky, and his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head when he felt Zayn’s lips trail down the inside of his thigh, across the tight skin stretching across his balls, and over the smooth skin of his arse. Harry let out a broken cry as Zayn’s lips brushed across his hole, and he tightened his hands until his knuckles went white, fingernails digging into his palm. “Fucking Jesus Christ, Zayn—“ 

Zayn would've chuckled if he could, instead he settled for a smile before working his mouth over Harry's rim; the curses that had been leaving Harry's lips faded into a mess of moans and clenched thighs. Zayn ran his palms up the back of Harry's thighs, pushing him them as he pulled his cheeks apart with his thumbs. Harry whimpered, trying to bear down against Zayn, against his hot mouth and tongue, desperate.

Harry whined Zayn's name, the muscles in his abdomen clenching, knowing he would come in an instant if he didn't try to hold himself back. And it was hard, so hard, because Zayn's mouth was so, _so_ good, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, holding onto the headboard for dear life, as Zayn ate him out.

Zayn moaned against Harry's hole, feeling his thighs quiver in his hands, and he worked his tongue a little faster, sliding across the smooth skin of Harry's bum and dipping into his hole. He could feel the saliva trickling down the side of his mouth, across his jaw, and making a mess of Harry's thighs, which only caused the younger boy to cry out brokenly when Zayn nipped at the sensitive skin of his rim.

"Zayn," Harry breathed out, back arching and thighs clenching as he tried to wrap them around Zayn's shoulders, tried to pull him closer.

With a grin, Zayn pulled away, licking at his lips. He reached down towards his cock, wrapping his fingers around himself as he crawled up the length of Harry's body, pressing his spit-slicked lips against the side of Harry's neck. "Good, babe?" he whispered, lips brushing across Harry's softly.

Harry keened, mouth falling open in a mixture of a sigh and a plea. "Please," he begged, lazily trying to roll his hips up, just a little, but his body felt slow, sluggish, and he just wanted to _come._

"Please what?" Zayn asked, guiding the head of his cock towards Harry's wet hole, smearing the precome that had gathered there across his rim. Harry pouted and Zayn rocked his hips forward, the blunt head of his prick slowly pushing in, barely breaching Harry's small body, and Harry cried out, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Please, Zayn, fuck— Want you—"

"Want _what_?" Zayn urged, reaching down to where he was barely pushing inside of Harry, slipping a finger in next to his cock, working it in to the second knuckle until Harry was nearly thrashing against the mattress beneath him.

"Want to come, want your mouth, your fingers, fuck—want your cock—”

"Gettin' a little greedy there," Zayn mused, pulling his cock out slowly and rubbing the head of it across Harry's perineum, across his hole, making it slick and shiny with precome again, "aren't you?"

Harry forced his eyes open to meet Zayn's, and he licked his lips, fingers itching to reach out for Zayn, to pull him in for a kiss, but he knew he couldn't. "Want you, want all of you, want any of you, Z," he babbled shamelessly with a roll of his hips, desperately trying to get Zayn's cock back inside of him.

Zayn smiled, didn't even bother trying to reprimand him, because he knew Harry was a little out of it, from the way his eyes were glassy with unshed tears to the way his cock was red and angry, leaning across his stomach and making a mess of his pale skin. Zayn bit at Harry's nipple before making his way down his chest, tongue darting out to lap at the precome gathering against the stomach, and he pushed Harry's legs further apart, wasting no time in getting his mouth on him again. Harry cried out as Zayn licked into him, sucking and biting at his rim, before working a finger in, then two, pulling his mouth back so he could watch the way Harry's body stretched around him, eager and ready as Zayn fucked him with his fingers. 

Zayn licked his lips again, glancing back up at Harry and his red cheeks, his lips bitten red and raw from trying to hold back from making too much noise and, fuck, he was _gorgeous._ Zayn had half a mind to keep it up, watch Harry fall apart on his fingers until he couldn't see or think straight, but Zayn had been waiting all day, too, had been waiting to get Harry spread out beneath him so he could fuck him until he cried, until his body was spent and trembling and over-sensitive, until he couldn't take it anymore. And Zayn figured they had waited long enough, that Harry had been such a good boy, not coming all day, and he deserved it, he deserved to have Zayn's cock buried in him until he was twitching and breathless.

Zayn blindly reached for the bottle of lube, finding it halfway underneath Harry's back, slipping his fingers out of Harry, and he didn't miss the small sound of protest that his boy made. He spread the lube across his cock, gripping himself tightly in one hand, and he leaned down to press his lips against Harry's quickly. "Good?"

Harry nodded with a sniffle, eyes still glazed over with tears, and he let out a happy sigh when Zayn kissed him again, soft and slow, anchoring him, just the way he liked.

Zayn guided the head of his cock back to Harry's hole, pushing in slowly, watching the way Harry's thighs stretched even further apart, and he sank in deep in one smooth thrust. Zayn paused, fingers tight and bruising on Harry's hip, sucking in a deep breath to steady himself, and he caught sight of Harry, eyes shut and a half smile on his lips, and he couldn't resist kissing him again.

Harry sighed into the kiss, fingers flexing around the headboard, as Zayn rolled his hips, fucking into him deep. Harry breathed out Zayn's name as he nudged against that little bundle of nerves, Harry's back going rigid. "Please—"

"Yeah," Zayn nodded, rocking into him, and he wanted to keep it slow, to take it slow, but he knew it was useless because they both had been so on edge and waiting all day. And Harry had been good, he deserved it, and Zayn knew he wasn't going to be able to hold on for too long. "Fuck, babe, you're so tight—"

"Yeah," Harry nodded breathlessly, wasn't even really paying attention to what Zayn was saying, just trying to chase the pleasure that was consuming him.

Zayn let go of Harry's thigh, reaching above his body to wrap his fingers around the headboard, next to Harry's. The change in position caused Zayn's cock to brush across that little bundle of nerves with each thrust of his hips, and Zayn fucked into him faster, harder, Harry a mess of moans beneath him. "I want you—fuck—want you to come for me, babe," Zayn told him, snapping his hips forward. "Want you to come just from this, just from my cock—"

Harry cut him off with a loud and broken cry, body shaking as he finally came, stomach coated with a mess of his come. He shivered and twitched when he felt Zayn's hand wrap around him, jerking him off, milking more out of him until he felt boneless, body collapsing against the bed as Zayn fucked into him.

Zayn came with a grunt as Harry's body tightened around him, and he let out a shaky breath as he slowly lowered himself against Harry's side, cock slipping out of his hole, come smeared across the inside of his thighs and dripping against the mattress.

"Fuck," Harry breathed out, slowly rolling onto his side until he was facing Zayn, wincing as he felt a bit of come trickle out of his hole, but it wasn't unpleasant--he actually kind of liked it.

Zayn smiled, reaching out to rub the pad of his thumb underneath Harry's eye, a couple of tears still welled up there. "Yeah," he agreed easily, laughing softly when Harry curled up against his chest. He wrapped an arm around his back, running his fingers across the smooth skin until he could feel Harry's heartbeat return to normal. "You good?"

"M'perfect," Harry whispered, pressing his lips to Zayn's chest before he pulled back. "We should do that again."

Zayn laughed, running his fingers through Harry's curls. "Yeah, alright."

Harry grinned. "Except next time, I get to ride you, yeah?"

There was no way Zayn could say no to _that._


End file.
